The Name of the Wind
by ThisIsTheGreatestUsername
Summary: Growing up, Tuka Marceau loved her father more than anything else in the world, which made losing him very hard...


**The Name of the Wind**

If you have ever stood beneath the canopy of a deciduous forest during autumn time, then you would have already seen the most beautiful thing in this world in Tuka Marceau's opinion.

For miles on end, in any direction, the crisp golden shedding floated down as was their fate, dancing a waltz to the tune of the forest before blanketing the ground in layers upon layers. You would be hard pressed to find a single spot uncovered, except for gnarled roots dipping in and out the cover like mole hills. It was not difficult to spot a wild hare here and there scampering, rustling and disturbing the foliage, preparing their holes for the winter to come.

At a young age of sixty years, the world was Tuka's playground, but the faded, shredded tapestry of autumn in particular held a special place in her heart. All throughout the season, she would go out each day, with a curiosity known only to a child. The other children of the village joined her at times, playing old games and creating new ones, their glee and joy only ending when exhausted.

But it was the times when her father came out and called on the name of the wind which made the most impressions on her. Hodor Marceau, a bard by trade, had called on the name of the wind many times to do his bidding each year, but it was during autumn when the beauty and magnificence of the art was most exquisitely displayed.

Before a sea of vibrant orange her father would stand, eyes focussed on something or nothing at all, and then he would whisper and to Tuka it sounded like no language she understood. But then the sea parted in two, pushing aside the leaves and leaving a walkway of undergrowth and forest floor bare. Tuka gaped in awe every time.

"Teach me! Teach me!" she begged one day, barrelling into her father as soon as he settled the wind. "I want to know the name of the wind!"

He chuckled, then lifted her and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Tuka, there are many things you need to learn before you can even begin to understand the name of the wind," he said.

"Teach me these other things then! And hurry!" she said, her enthusiasm undented in the slightest.

He laughed again. "What do you think I'm doing? Your lessons have already long begun."

Tuka made a face. "All you've taught me so far is how to wash the dishes, do the laundry, and dust the house."

"Exactly, and speaking of which…"

"Those are chores!"

Hodor smiled and set Tuka down on the ground, then kneeled to her height. "Tuka," he began, "learning the name of the wind cannot be rushed. It is a difficult thing to grasp. Many people do not even understand it until their two hundredth year. But be patient and learn the little things, and one day I'll share its secrets with you."

That answer didn't satisfy the young girl, and she sulked even more, kicking the ground moodily.

Hodor sighed, knowing that little else would appease his daughter. "I'll tell you what, I'll show it again one more time and if you can understand it, then I'll teach you how to control it. Okay?"

The concession was enough to bring a smile back to Tuka's face and she let out sound of glee. "Yes, yes, father!"

With that, Hodor turned to face the fallen leaves, and once again called on the name of the wind.

* * *

As the years went by, Tuka learnt a great many things from her father. During the winter, when the days were short and evenings long, he would seat on his rocking chair, with her on his lap, reciting great monologues with gusto and pomp while she followed along reading. At times, he would encourage her to try some parts herself, letting her know the feel of good words rolling off her tongue.

Other times, they would sit by the hearth in their house, making up songs together, him on the lute and she jotting down the lines. It was like a game to her, and in time she grew to love the lessons her father gave her. Many years later, she would look back and realize how cunningly her father had nurtured her eagerness to learn.

When she reached her seventieth year, her father took her into the forest. It was spring and the snow had just thawed, leaving the ground a mushy mess and the air smelling of mossy bark. He handed her a bow and showed her how to string it and from that day onward, made her draw the bow until she could draw to her ears. The exercise was painful and hard, but when she saw the other children doing the same, it became a competition to see who could accomplish it first.

On the day she finally drew the bow to her father's satisfaction, he placed an arrow in the string and told her to loose. The arrow flew to no direction in particular. So each day, she practiced shooting at a twenty meter target five hundred times, upping the target range every time she completed the set without missing.

As she shot, her father always sat nearby plucking a tune on his lute, calling out her mistakes when she made them and heaping praises when she earned them. Occasionally, he would invite her to play a song while he sang, to which she took upon with more eagerness than with archery practice, the callouses in her fingers aiding her unexpectedly. You see, they were worshippers of Lunaryur, the God of Music, and it brought them joy each time a note left their fingers or lips.

In the nights, after all training and lessons were done, the two of them often retreated to the roof of their house, up high as near to the canopy as they could get. With the stars above their heads and a view of the whole village like none other, her father told her stories of a time when he was young and foolish, with only his lute and the name of the wind on the tip of his tongue.

"I want to see the world like you did, father!" she exclaimed one day.

A slight curl reached the edges of Hodor's lips. "It's a hard, difficult world outside our home, Tuka."

"But I want to see this Empire…these humans you talk of. The cities they've built, temples they've made, and…and all of it!"

Hodor nodded. "Maybe one day you will, my girl," he said. "But first you must learn of the dangers of the world."

Tuka raised an eyebrow. "But why?"

"Because while humans are capable of great things, they are also capable of worst."

Over the days and years gone by, the stories then included tales of lands further from home and of creatures both benign and sinister. War became a prominent topic, along with all its chaos and treachery and deaths. Even then there were some things which Hodor could not—would not—describe to her, which only left her hungry to know more. Nevertheless, the point began hitting home to her, that the world was not some shiny, beautiful place, but a dark and broken sphere, filled with equally dark and broken people. She'd rather stay home with her father by her side.

Eventually, mentions of a quick-witted, silver-tongued woman started popping up in the stories. With her father, they went on adventures that in the best of times were fun and exciting, while in the worst were heart-wrenching and soul-searching. It did not take Tuka long to realize that he was talking about her mother.

"…and so when the music began, I knew I had but one thing to do. I strode up to her, more confidently than I felt, tapped her on the shoulder, and said, 'Care for a dance?' She looked at me with those green, green eyes, and I remember thinking to myself that they were like endless, rolling pastures, inviting you to come be lost. Then she laughed, more of a bark than a snicker. 'I'd rather shit on my hands and clap,' she said."

Tuka, now approaching her eleven hundredth year, giggled uncontrollably. "Well obviously! When you first met her, you thought she was a courtesan. You also wrote that song about her when you were drunk! '_I heard about it from so many men I wished to see it for myself and try the fit_.'"

"I didn't think it would spread!" Hodor raised his hands in defence. "They still play it in taverns now, by the way. It's one of the reasons why your mother never stepped into one again for a few hundred years."

"Honestly, you're such an idiot, father," Tuka said, shaking her head. "There's no way mother actually fell in love with you later. What did you do? Buy a love potion? That's your next story, isn't it?"

Her father chuckled. "Oh no, no love potion. Just my music and charm."

"Oh please, even I know that you've got as much charm as a log," Tuka said, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, hey, when did you become so snarky?" Hodor said, hitting her lightly on the head. "But if you really want to know how she eventually agree to become my wife," he said, and suddenly lowered his voice all conspiracy-like, "It's because I know the seven words to a woman's heart."

That got Tuka raising her eyebrows. "What seven words?" she asked, leaning close.

Hodor smirked. "You'll find out one day."

"Tell me!" she begged, but then narrowed her eyes. "They don't exist, do they?"

"No, no, they definitely exist. Someone will say them to you one day, and you'll know. Though from that day onwards, I'll lose my baby girl." He gave her another smirk. Tuka knew he was teasing her, and she groaned, to which he laughed.

A comfortable silence lulled between them as they watched the stars quietly.

"Father?" Tuka asked.

"Yes?"

"How exactly did mother die?"

For a long moment, Hodor didn't respond, as if he'd expected the question but still had no way of answering. Eventually, he let out a sigh, his eyes closing.

"The Fire Dragon killed her," he said.

"The Fire Dragon? I thought the Apostles sealed it?"

Hodor nodded. "They did, but she and I took part in the final battle just before." Tuka noticed her father's fist clenching. "She…fought well. Everyone who was there knows. She was probably the first one to realize that the dragon's weakness was its eyes. But—but…"

Tuka placed a hand on his shoulder, indicating that there was no need to go on; she understood. _But I'd rather she fought bad and lived, _he probably meant to . _I'd rather it was me who took her place._

Her father raised his head to her. "You were only several years old then, too young to remember anything," he said, then pulled her into an embrace. "She would have been so proud of you now."

Not knowing what to say, Tuka kept quiet. Hearing her father speak of her mother like this was enough to make her eyes feel watery. While she never got to know her mother, she knew that if she had even half the love her father had shown her, she would have been the luckiest child in the world.

Finally, she said, "I wish I could remember her."

* * *

The next few decades flew by in a whirl, and it was during this time in which Tuka the young girl transformed to Tuka the young woman. A growth spurt brought her to a hundred and sixty centimetres, while her face shed the remaining traces of baby fat. Her movements also began to gain touches of grace and elegance, so much so that that she could hardly now escape the attention of her young male neighbours. Former playmates soon became potential suitors, and her evenings with her father turned into long walks with others.

However, perhaps they were all still quite immature, or they did not know the seven words, nothing serious ever came out of these flings. Instead, ever since she heard about the resourcefulness and skilfulness of her mother, she threw herself into her lessons. Along with archery practice, her father taught her human languages, the showmanship of a bard, and some herbology, while an elderly neighbour taught her sewing, embroidery, and the finer aspects of the culinary arts.

She did not neglect her music either. As her father encouraged her to play what was within her heart, she found it too embarrassing to play in her house, where it could be easily heard by her father and neighbours. So, she found herself a spot out in the forest, where two trees had fallen against each other simultaneously and ended up supporting each other. For hours during early mornings, she would sit on a branch between the two trees, just plucking at the strings, experimenting different tunes.

A great many songs she wrote, some good, but most bad. Only her favourites she played publicly such as "Autumn Forest" and "Father's Farts", the latter causing Hodor much embarrassment, though he took it like a champ and later created "Tuka's Snores" to glorious fanfare.

It was the beginning of autumn when her father came looking for her and found her in her usual spot.

"Come, Tuka," he said.

She nodded, returned her lute to its case, and followed him deeper into the forest. For the past several weeks, her father had begun teaching her how to hunt, looking for tell-tale signs of wild animals' tracks. But today there seemed to be a different purpose. She did not ask why for she knew her father would reveal the reason soon enough.

They entered a small clearing by the river, which their village drew their water from. A small headstone covered in moss peeped out of the fallen leaves. She waited for her father to kneel first to the headstone before doing the same.

'_How are you, mother?' _she asked within her head.

A light breeze responded, stirring the leaves, and at that, Hodor rose.

He faced her. "Tuka," he said, his eyes focussed intently on her. "Today, I'll teach you how to listen for the name of the wind."

Excitement welled inside her, but she kept her face neutral. "Yes, father."

* * *

The air was still acrid. Across the grassy plains, seared scorch marks. Charred bits of wood, rocks, and hedges laid scattered.

Why was she here? Where was her father?

The men in green and human villagers were busy burying the dead. They did their work solemnly, while everyone else helped reload the wagons. The Fire Dragon had retreated, but there was no guarantee that it wouldn't return.

Tuka sat inside the metal wagon which needed no horse to pull. She felt trapped.

"How did I get here?" she asked softly.

The young girl next to her stirred, cocking an eyebrow. "Oh?" she said, and it sounded like she was mocking. "Beats me, I just got here myself. Though I was indeed wondering what's an elf doing here with humans."

Tuka didn't meet her eyes. "I was in my village and then when I woke, I was here," she said. "Something happened, didn't it?"

The girl, who wore a black and red frilly dress, shrugged. "Probably. Though from the looks of things, I'm willing to bet that the Fire Dragon got your village as well. Everyone you knew," and she shrugged again, "most likely dead. In fact, you probably did witness it all, but the shock of it was so terrible that your mind is forcing you to forget."

There was enough bluntness in those words to knock someone unconscious.

But to her surprise, she just felt a deep hollowness within her. "If that's the case, then I think I rather not remember," Tuka said eventually. _Where are you father?_

"Good, because that's what I would suggest. Some wounds are just too deep to heal," the young girl said. "At least, in my nine hundred years of experience."

"I understand. Thank you, miss…"

"Rory Mercury, Apostle of Emroy."

"Tuka Marceau," she replied in kind. "Daughter of Hodor Marceau."

They gathered before the rows of graves when it was time to pay the final respects. The sun had descended past the hilly horizon, shrouding the area in a haze of shadows. Over a dozen children huddled by the Death god's apostle as she read out the burial rites, an elderly man with a lute accompanying the prayer with some chords. The men in green stood behind at a respectful distance, their expressions one of sympathy.

"…So we pray to you, oh Emroy, that the souls of these lost ones will travel to you safely. May you protect and lavish them with more comfort and peace than they would have ever enjoyed in this mortal world."

Tuka watched as some of the newly orphaned children began to cry, their eyes running with tears that could not be stopped, and she could not help but feel her eyes turn watery as well. Without thinking, she made her way to the elderly man playing the lute.

"May I?" she asked, reaching out with one hand.

She saw the hesitation on his face first, but then his expression softened to a smile, and he held out the instrument. "Certainly," he said.

She sounded the strings, one at a time, then strummed a simple chord. It rang soft and true. So, she strummed another and then another, nice and slowly for her father always said that you must never rush getting to know a new lute. Then, before she realized what she was doing, she began to play.

Her fingers waltzed across the strings, sending the soft and slow notes out to the open air. The music moved like the washing of waves upon a seashore, ebbing ever so gently, enthralling all in its harmonious murmurings, and for a slight moment the shields which her mind had built up cracked, and the hollowness she felt within her since waking up starting to ache.

But she kept on playing. She played for the sake of those who have lost loved ones. She played for the sake of the music. She played for the sake of her father, who she hoped would hear this and come find her. For a long time she just played.

"…as your faithful servant, Emroy, I now release these souls," Rory finished her prayer.

To the astonishment of all those present, faint blue hues began floating up from the graves. Like pollen, they bumbled about in the air, as if trying to find their bearings.

"Go with haste now, souls of the fallen," Rory intoned. "Go to the kingdom of Emroy, where you will be treated kindly and well. Go."

They all watched silently as the blue hues rose higher and higher in the air. Some children waved them goodbye while still teary-eyed. Others cried some more.

It smelled suddenly of lilies, of green grass and open fields. Tuka paused her playing as she heard the whisper of a name. She listened to it, then spoke it soft.

The wind came and lifted the floating hues, speeding their journey to the other world. After a few minutes, they were lost in the darkness of the sky, like the dying of stars.

The refugees shuffled wordlessly out of the burial pit, making their way towards to their wagons. Men, women, children, all of whom who had lost their home just like her.

Tuka returned the lute to its owner. "Thank you."

The elderly man shook his head and bowed. "No, thank you. That was beautiful," he said, his voice holding back emotions.

As the trail of wagons left the area to search for a new home elsewhere, Tuka found herself back inside the metal wagon. Joining her were many of the orphans who had nowhere else to go, huddling in the wide seats with their heads downcast. Like them, she wondered what was going to happen next. The world was a dangerous enough place as it is; for a child with no home and family, it was a death sentence.

She watched as the men in green talked among themselves, using a language which she didn't understand. Who were they? They were no mentions of any people like them in her father's stories. But after what they've done today, she reckoned that they couldn't be bad people.

Eventually, one of the men in green peeled off from the others and approached the metal wagon, helmet in hand, boots kicking up dust. He had dark hair and a light scruffy beard, and like the others he wore the dark-green outfits which no one could place origins. Tuka met his eyes and saw they were a cool, brown colour.

When he spoke, it came out brokenly and incomplete, but the meaning was there all the same.

"Don't you worry. Things will be fine."

_Huh. That's seven words._

* * *

**Author's Notes: **So this is an extremely experimental story that came about because I thought it would cool to take one of GATE's most useless and pointless character and trying to see what I can do with her. I'll admit though that I did not have fun writing this story because of how actually boring Tuka as a character is. I scoured the wiki and rewatched some episodes hoping that I could find some aspect of her character that would be interesting to expand upon, but found nothing at all. So I just decided to focus on the relationship with her father as that's supposedly key to her character arc (although after reading Tuka's father wiki page, I almost wanted to give this fic up as a lost cause). But after two days of just pushing myself to write this (not to mention I had an annoyingly catchy song stuck in my head for almost the entire writing process), this is the end result.

On a slightly related note, can anyone tell me if 'don't' counts as one or two words? Also, should I regret not succumbing to the urge of making a GoT reference to Tuka's father's name?

Anyway, let me know what you think of this. Like I said this is an experimental story, so I definitely like to hear your thoughts and see what works and what doesn't. Feel free to be as blunt as you want.


End file.
